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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065257">This Colourless Light</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithmarauder/pseuds/sithmarauder'>sithmarauder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Mutual Protectiveness, Porn with Feelings, Protectiveness, Secret Relationship, Sex in the Dark, Tenderness, The Forbidden Soft, how to take care of your frostbitten first lieutenant: a study by tom jopson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:54:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,604</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithmarauder/pseuds/sithmarauder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What do you want?” Thomas whispered here, now.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You, in all things, and in all ways.”</i>
</p><p>Thomas Jopson takes care of a frozen Edward Little, and an Arctic whiskey caper ends tenderly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This Colourless Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is entirely self-indulgent.  <i>Entirely</i>.  Really, I've no explanation other than, "I have had a very bad week and needed something soft."</p><p>Title from H.D.'s <i>Eurydice</i>: "everything is lost / everything is crossed with black, / black upon black / and worse than black, / <b>this colourless light."</b></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a testament to Thomas’ professionalism and control that he was able to keep any trace of judgement from his face, even as he carefully herded Edward’s frozen form out of the captain’s cabin.</p><p>“Jopson—”</p><p>“This way, Lieutenant,” Thomas cut in, the iciness of his voice enough to strangle any protest Edward might have made.  His thoughts sluggish with the cold, his body a numb, heavy thing, Edward surrendered to the command, trailing after Thomas like a great hulking beast as they made the short trek from Crozier’s cabin to Edward’s own in silence.  The other officers were long abed, the only life on <em>Terror</em> her dedicated night watch, one of whom had winced sympathetically at Edward when they'd observed him on his ignoble trudge back to <em>Terror </em>less than an hour prior, stolen whiskey hidden underneath layers and layers of insufficient winter clothing.</p><p>Even the captain himself slept now, prize in hand, the mean line of his mouth soothed by the drink he had risked Edward’s limbs for.</p><p>Thomas had bid him to stay but remain out of sight, his eyes as cold as the ice as he’d readied Crozier for bed and then turned his attentions fully on Edward.  Those same eyes were trained on him now, grim and flinty as Thomas guided Edward into the impossibly cramped officer’s berth, and Edward could only imagine he looked as rough as he felt, a supposition confirmed by Thomas’ brisk <em>let me help you with that, sir</em>, as he worked quickly to divest Edward of his snow-soaked coat.  Already the smell of wet wool permeated the small, private space, and Edward found himself shaking before Thomas had finished peeling the sodden wool away from his body, focus razor-sharp as he began to rub feeling back into Edward’s frozen hands, arms, shoulders.</p><p>It was a job for Gibson, should have been a job for Gibson, if it was a job for anyone at all, but Edward had barely opened his mouth to voice that when Thomas stopped him with a firm look that brokered no arguments.  It brought with it a strange sense of calm, one that had Edward’s stiff limbs slumping as he surrendered himself to Thomas’s command, to Thomas’s strange <em>care</em>, part of him relishing in the notion of simply being able to let go and allow someone else to take control, at least for a little while.  The captain’s order weighed heavy in the room, its consequences etched into Edward’s rigid fingers and shivering frame.  He obeyed, as he always did, his position a noose that came with the scaffold of duty, and hoped the spirits worth the risk to life and limb.</p><p>At least the creature had been absent.  When he'd slipped and tumbled into the drift, he'd thanked God for small mercies.</p><p>He thought Thomas would have agreed with the necessity of it, captain’s man that he was, but Thomas’s mouth was set in a thin, unhappy line, his shoulders oddly tense, a contrast to the careful way he held Edward’s hands in his own.  Edward opened his mouth to speak, but something about the way the shadows played across Thomas' face bid him to stay his tongue.  Watching was something he could do—something he found himself doing a whole lot of, in fact, where the captain’s steward was concerned—and perhaps he could have done so indefinitely had his body not decided it was done being completely numb.  The force of the shivering took him by surprise, full-body shakes that had Thomas muttering a decidedly unprofessional curse under his breath even as Edward ground his teeth together in an effort to keep them from chattering.</p><p>Thomas’s hands were at his throat then, and Edward blinked slowly before his brain caught up with the fact that Thomas was undoing the buttons on his waistcoat, sliding his hands against the heated skin there.  Whatever Thomas felt had his brow furrow further, but Edward could do nothing but stand there and allow the touch, though he rather thought it might do him in utterly, even frozen as he was.</p><p><em>He’s done this before, he must have done</em>, Edward thought sluggishly, even as Thomas continued to divest him of his frozen clothing, and he wasn’t aware he was shaking uncontrollably until Thomas was sliding in closer, nearly pressing against him in the small space of the port cabin that had been allotted to him across from <em>Terror’s</em> officer’s mess, wedged tight between the captain’s and Hodgson’s.</p><p>“Tom,” Edward murmured when he felt hands pushing fabric from his shoulders, his body beginning to shake more violently as Thomas got him down to little more than his smalls, his teeth clacking audibly despite the tenseness of his jaw.  Thomas uttered another low curse and swept the wool blanket from the small bed space, draping it around Edward’s shoulders.  Thomas was still close, painfully so, and Edward almost thought he could count every single one of his eyelashes, catalogue every single texture in those pale blue eyes, when he realized Thomas had stopped removing Edward’s clothing and was now removing his own.  “Tom—“</p><p>“Trust me, sir,” Thomas said even as his hands flew up to the buttons of his own vest, nimble fingers making quick work of the trappings.  “When we sailed under Ross, the cabin boy got too close to the railing and took an ill-advised dip.  The men wanted to pile him high with blankets, but the doctor said it would stop the boy’s heart.  You had to do it gradually.  Please, sir; let me.”</p><p>Edward just nodded.  On a good day he could never refuse Thomas; now, reduced to little more than blue eyes in the gloom and the cutting edge of the Arctic’s fury, he hadn’t a chance.  His teeth still rattled, and he clenched his jaw tighter in an attempt to stop them, eyes roaming the expanse of pale skin before him as Thomas revealed himself bit by bit—more than Edward had ever seen at one time, all the hard and soft lines of him.</p><p>Then, Thomas was touching him, and the pain was so excruciating that Edward nearly buckled—would have, if Thomas hadn’t caught his weight, pressing himself tight against Edward as Edward both stiffened and sagged forward.  Agony like the tips of a thousand needles blossomed where Thomas’ heated skin pressed against his own, Edward’s shock only intensifying as Thomas made a soft hushing sound and pulled the wool blanket further around them.  They were still standing through sheer force of a will that Edward was not sure belonged more to him or to Tom, the only sound his own shuddering; his own weakness.</p><p>His arms had found their way around Tom at some point, hands clutching clumsily at Thomas’ bare back, splaying against the skin and the sinewy muscles he could feel shifting beneath.  Despite their still standing, Thomas had entangled their legs as well, pressing for every point of contact he could.  It was agony, it was torture, it was <em>care</em> and <em>tenderness</em>, and Edward gritted his teeth as the harshest of whimpers escaped from between his burning lips, turning to bury his face in Thomas’ hair.  The scent of Castile soap was strong there, a small reminder of home, a small comfort in this backwards place.</p><p>Gradually he became aware of the fact that the trembling wasn’t solely emanating from him, and he drew back the smallest amount, muttering a wretched <em>Tom</em> against that dark crown of hair, unable to bear both the heat-pain of Thomas’ body and the weight of those all-seeing eyes as they gazed upon him.</p><p>Against him, Tom shifted; shuddered.  Edward could feel a pair of warm lips brush against his cheek, made damp by the ice melting there, and he did not resist when Thomas clutched at one of his hands, bringing it between their bare chests for a moment.  Exhaling harshly, Thomas then brought Edward’s hand to his face, pressing the frozen limb against his own cheek.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispered, turning his head such that every word he breathed Edward could feel against his own neck.  “My own love.  I am so sorry.”</p><p>Edward shivered, his arms tightening around Tom, fingers digging the slightest bit into the skin of Tom’s back before he relaxed them.  “Not your fault,” he rumbled, once he felt his tongue thawed enough to be capable of speech.  His face burned, an unpleasant hot-cold that made his entire body tingle.  He knew he was still shaking, and Tom’s response to that seemed to be to press even closer, until Edward was cradled between Tom’s body and the hard wall of his shoebox cabin, Tom whispering anguished nothings into his ear as feeling made its sheepish return to his body.</p><p>Feeling brought with it more pain, however, the thousand needles turning into the jagged edges of a dozen knives.  A noise, inhuman and wounded, punched its way out of his chest, until the only thing keeping him upright was Tom’s firm hold as Edward sank against him, quivering and cold, as unsteady as a babe.</p><p>He wasn’t expecting the shadow of guilt on Thomas’ face when he drew back; wasn’t expecting the distressed twist to the other man’s mouth, nor the way those pale eyes burned with an emotion so far beyond anger that Edward almost ducked his head at the sight of it.</p><p>There was no illusion as to the fact that Thomas was allowing him this glimpse.  Edward should have felt honoured.  Instead, the only thing he could concentrate on was the receding cold and the distinct sensation of his heart cracking open in his chest when his Tom said, achingly soft:</p><p>“I did this.”</p><p>It was instinct to deny it, once the full implications of Tom’s words set in.  Never a man for verbal comfort, Edward nevertheless wanted to try, wanted to scoop some pretty placations from his ripped and bleeding heart and present them to Tom as the paltry offering they were: benediction, exoneration, forgiveness, if such a thing could be found.</p><p>He didn’t.  He couldn’t.  Not when there was nothing to forgive, not when Tom had about as much choice as Edward in the matter of the captain’s need—less choice, even, for with Edward’s rank came privileges and freedoms that Tom did not possess.  If Tom blamed himself for fuelling the captain’s poor choices, then Edward should shoulder even more of that blame, even as rank kept his own tongue bridled and his bones frozen to their very marrow.</p><p>No.  Much as part of Edward shrivelled away to admit, the fault lay with their captain, and no other.</p><p>“You’ve about as much to do with this as you do Lady Silence’s creature, Tom,” Edward rasped, throat oddly parched.  “Unless you’ve some grand secrets to confess.”</p><p>Thomas huffed out a small, reluctant laugh.  “All my secrets are of the mundane variety I’m afraid, love.”  He was trembling slightly still, Edward’s chilled body leaching all the warmth it could from him, but he stood strong nevertheless: an unwavering pillar for the men of the expedition to lean upon, even if most of them never knew it.  It took a special kind of fool to think Thomas Jopson weak, and Edward might have been foolish in some things, but this was not one of them.  He knew Tom’s worth.  More, he damn well knew Crozier did as well.  The man had a sharp word for everyone these days, but Edward had yet to hear the captain raise his voice to his steward; the opposite, in fact, as the only time Crozier seemed to speak with any softness or genuine affection at all these days was when addressing Thomas.  Even Blanky got caustic remarks more often than not as of late as his disapproval over Crozier’s drinking mounted more by the day, loosening his tongue in the presence of such an old friend.</p><p>Edward wasn’t naive, he knew he wasn’t privy to even half the words that must have been exchanged between Crozier and Thomas, knew that there might be times he did not know of where the captain’s tongue sharpened and his words were spit out to cut and wound, but he remembered the day he had been given his marching orders; remembered how, for a few blissful minutes, Crozier’s entire being had gentled in the presence of his steward, his jaw unclenching and his eyes softening as he’d given Thomas his orders and asked of him his questions.  It had made the meanness in his face when he’d addressed Edward the moment Thomas was gone that much more noticeable, the thin, straight line of his mouth a contrast to the relaxed set.  Crozier was not a cruel man, but there was a callousness to that look, a nasty, draconian edge that had made Edward’s blood run as cold as the ice.</p><p>
  <em>“That’s your clock.  See it doesn’t run out.”</em>
</p><p> He sighed, his hands moving up Tom’s back before he slid them back down, settling them at his favourite spot: Thomas’ hips.</p><p>“Tom,” Edward whispered, a scraping, scratchy sound.  A different kind of heat was making itself known the longer Tom remained pressed against him, bare as the day he was born, the both of them cocooned inside the woollen blanket.  A new heat, a hungry one, one Edward wouldn’t have thought himself capable of as he slogged his way between the two trapped ships, teeth clenched after yet another row with Mr. Collins.</p><p>Tom’s nose nudged his cheek, and he made a shushing sound, and then Edward was being pulled back, down, until they were settled on Edward’s small bed space, Edward kneeling between his Tom’s spread thighs as Tom laid on his back, a feast for all senses.  The Argand lamp was lit, affording precious light if very little heat, but it was enough to see Tom by, the shadows playing off the sharp lines of his face before he was pulling Edward in for a slow kiss, a luxurious thing that time oft ill-afforded them.</p><p>Edward’s hands gripped those familiar hips again before he settled them up against Thomas’ ribcage, feeling the strong bone against the roughened skin of his palms.  The cold receded further, increasingly replaced with that more urgent kind of heat, the sort he was used to Tom inspiring in him these past years at sea and in ice.  He deepened the kiss, the shyness of those early days forgotten in the wake of a known intimacy.  Years past, the screaming of the locomotive engine had muffled any damning sounds.  Unable to rely on that, the engines long gone silent as <em>Terror</em> and <em>Erebus</em> languished in their arctic purgatory, they settled for discretion and longing.  Now, the tips of his fingers red and burning, Edward had to trust that same discretion would shield their actions from Hodgson, asleep in the next cabin over, or worse: Irving.</p><p>It was that or trust his sense, and sense had long since given way to its obverse where one captain’s steward was concerned.</p><p>“What do you want?” Thomas whispered here, now.  <em>We can’t, Edward,</em> is what he should have been saying, what <em>both</em> of them had been saying as tensions had continued to rise among the ranks, since the creature had first reared its ugly head, but there was a very real fear in Thomas’ eyes, a need that Edward was sure reflected in his own, and so Edward leaned down again, traded a few more slow, syrupy kisses with the man shifting so beautifully under his hands and said, simply:</p><p>“You, in all things, and in all ways.”</p><p>His Tom sighed, a pretty, fleeting sound, and when Edward lowered himself Thomas took his weight easily, gladly, one leg bending at the knee to better cradle Edward’s hips where he wanted them.  A hand found the side of Edward’s face again, guiding and yielding, Edward’s own hands slipping up, <em>up, </em>until they grasped Thomas’ both and brought them up as well, fingers tangling in the cramped space about Thomas’ head.  Still Edward kept kissing him, his body superheated as he pressed as close as he dared.  He could feel Tom’s hardness against his belly, was sure Tom could feel his own in response, but the friction was second to the way Tom bit his lip when they parted, to the flush that had risen high in those pale cheeks: a torment of pure perfection.</p><p>An ache blossomed in his chest, overtaking the burn of a frozen body rediscovering fire.  Tom’s hands were still clutched in his own like the most precious of treasures, and Edward brought one to his mouth, teeth grazing the knuckles before he nipped at the fine skin.  He wanted things he could not have in the arctic, things he could not risk in a cabin with walls too thin and neighbours too nosy, so he kissed Thomas instead, pouring everything he had into it, their bodies trembling anew.</p><p>“Ssh,” Thomas hushed again, though Edward had not made a sound, and then it was Edward’s turn to hush him, mouth swallowing Thomas’ low keen when Edward moved his hips just so where they were still nestled in the cradle of Tom’s thighs.  Thomas was responsive even when holding the reigns, Edward had learned early on, impossibly so, and so Edward used the weight of his body to keep the other man pinned down as he dragged blunt nails down Thomas’ arm, down his chest, his stomach, to the raised, jagged scar on his thigh that Edward knew still caused pain years after the incident.</p><p>“Tom,” he murmured, the name encompassing all he wanted to say and all he could not.  Tom understood, if the slight arch of his spine was any indication, and Edward was glad he still had one hand pinning Tom’s own down when he pulled himself back up the other man’s body to carefully extinguish the sole burning lamp, plunging them into darkness.  It was hell, not being able to see Tom’s face, but the lamp would only be a beacon, calling attention to things best left in the dark.</p><p>He ached to move down Thomas’ body, to spend time worshipping it all the ways he had learned how; ached to feel the weight of Thomas against his hips, against his tongue, the heat of him as Edward slipped inside.  The bed space had hardly enough room for one grown man, let alone two, but—</p><p>“Tom,” he whispered again as he lifted his hips, snaking his free hand between their bodies to take them both in a loose grip.  Thomas shuddered at the touch, the shifting of his body underneath Edward’s own beautiful even when Edward could not see it, and they hadn’t enough space, <em>truly</em>, but there was enough for <em>this</em>, for Edward to claim Thomas in a deep kiss and whisper <em>“your thighs, Tom</em>,” against that cherry-red mouth, for Tom to bite back a whimper and give a shaky exhale in the blackness before they were moving, shifting, Edward’s chest to Thomas’ back, their legs tangling together.</p><p>Tom’s thighs were warm, silky smooth and baby-soft as Edward ran his fingers between them, trailing up until he was pressing against spots that made Tom throw his head back against Edward’s shoulder with a gasp before twisting his head, asking for something readily given as Edward kissed him and, in the moments between, guided himself between that soft heat, quickly made slick by his own body.  With his hands he pulled Thomas flush against him, the movement of his hips slow and languid, both for discretion’s sake and because of the way the intimacy of it all made Thomas whimper, the quietest, most cherished of sounds.</p><p>Thomas was hot when Edward took him in hand, his body jerking and thighs clenching.  Edward bit back a groan, muffling it first against Thomas’ mouth and then in the crook of Thomas’ neck as he grazed his teeth against the vulnerable tendons. </p><p>“Oh, Edward, my love, <em>oh</em>,” Thomas trilled, so soft it could barely be heard as Edward nipped at his ear, sliding his hand up and down the length of him.</p><p>“Hush,” Edward murmured, muffled now in dark hair that had long since fallen out of its usual part.  He was sure that unruly lock had fallen into Thomas’ eyes, and the thought made his heart ooze yet more blood from where the shattered remnants of it sat ugly and open in his breast.  He bit down just behind Thomas’ ear in response, worrying the skin there: a mark easily hidden by that selfsame dark hair.  Thomas’ body was moving with his now, every roll of Edward’s hips met by a clenching of thighs and a subtle push back—not enough to bring about sound, but <em>enough</em> nonetheless, the friction a delicious thing that set Edward’s blood to pumping, his face to flushing.  He clutched Tom tighter against his chest, worked him with a firm hand, and was rewarded with the way his Tom arched and moved against him, a lovely creature all his own.</p><p>Another whimper from Tom, muffled; Edward could almost picture the way Thomas must have brought his own hand up to stop the noises, biting the skin of his own knuckle to keep them safe, contained.  If they survived this place and the unholy monsters that dwelt within, Edward vowed that he would take Tom far from the ice, that he would give him all he could.  He would have Thomas on a bed, frivolously large and soft, and those delicious noises would ring freely, unhindered.  There would be no need for secrecy in this place that was their own, and he would be able to watch Thomas’ body arch under his fingertips, would be able to watch those kiss-swollen lips as they sang for him.</p><p>This possession was dangerous, a dereliction of duty in the highest sense, but the failing was a shared one.  Edward saw that in the way Tom looked at him when it was safe to do so, the way those come-hither baby blues sharpened and darkened and those red red lips thinned when Edward returned once more from the cold or suffered another sharp rebuke.  He felt it in the way Thomas moved against him now, in the way a hand reached back to tangle in his hair, crushing their mouths together as Edward pushed forward and Tom pushed <em>back</em>, a mutual give-and-take that left him breathless and panting and like everything he was and could be was an attainable thing so long as he had this man nestled willingly in his arms.</p><p>He gave a languid twist of his wrist, swallowing the accompanying moan.  Tom’s body was a fine thing all-atremble, each shiver matched by one of Edward’s own.  <em>Quiet, </em>he thought, they must be quiet, and they <em>were</em>, oh, they <em>were</em>, but they were also aflame, burned up by a moment they could not have planned.  The fire sped their movements, even as they shifted to prevent any sounds from escaping, Edward’s grip softening and quickening even as his hips pushed forward, the space between Thomas’ thighs so much like coming <em>home</em>, and it was that thought at last that had Edward coming undone: the very idea of home and the notion that Thomas, in all his forms, could <em>be</em> that home for him.  Thomas’ mouth captured his own, a hand slipping back into Edward’s hair even as another wrapped around his own where Edward still held him and, still shaking from his own release, veins still unbearably hot, they finished Thomas together, every keen and moan and cry muffled and swallowed and contained, lovingly, between them.</p><p>“My love, my own love,” Thomas was whispering, the words only half-spoken as Edward continued to kiss him, still shuddering, still shaking, the wool blanket heavy where it was still draped over them.  Edward slipped his hands up that trembling stomach, through the mess left there, a hot claim that he smeared over soft skin.</p><p>Thomas could not stay.  Gibson would be about in the morning, and Edward was a man with eyes who could see the animosity that brewed dark in Gibson’s otherwise blank countenance where Thomas was concerned.  He would have to let Tom go, but God in heaven if the thought of releasing him now wasn’t harder than the bite of the ice itself.  He curled himself around Tom instead, holding him fast, taking comfort in the fact that Tom allowed himself to be held, <em>allowed</em> himself to be contained by Edward and Edward alone, when no one else had a hope of bending that steel spine out of place.</p><p>It was a privilege.  A concession.  An exchange of power, one of many they had between them.</p><p>“Thomas,” Edward hissed as he pressed his forehead to Thomas’.  Tom’s answer was a low hum, a pleased sound that reminded Edward of the purr of the she-cat that had prowled the stables when he was a boy, spine straight and proud save for when Edward would slowly, gently run his hands across the soft fur, leaving her a boneless and content.  “Stay,” he begged, teeth clenching at the weakness of the plea before he relaxed them, slipping his arms back around Thomas’ warm, pliant body.  It was pointless thing, to ask for this, but he did it anyway; begged to remain here, with Tom, even as the mess between them cooled and became sticky.  He wanted that, all of it, for as long as Tom would allow it.  “For just a little while longer, stay with me.  Please.”</p><p>There was no seeing Thomas’ expression without the light.  All Edward could do was listen to the sound of the air leaving Thomas’ lungs in a soft sigh, his arms tightening for the briefest of moments when Thomas shifted against him.  He did not loosen the hold, even when he realized Thomas was turning so that they were chest-to-chest once more, pressing <em>closer </em>from where he was contained against Edward's body, his arms sliding around Edward in return as he slipped a leg between Edward’s thigh and rested his face in the hollow of Edward’s throat.  Edward shivered, his relief smothered by Thomas’ hair.  He would have to let go eventually, when duty compelled it, and he <em>would</em>, but for now, boneless and warm in the dark, he was content to hold fast.</p><p>It seemed his Tom was, as well.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said, the words wildly inadequate in expressing the sensation that bubbled up in his chest, squeezing his lungs.  Reality would crash over them eventually, but this—this Edward would seize, selfishly; this Edward would cling to, a spot of warmth and heat in an unforgiving, timeless realm.  The cold was a distant memory in the here and now, the knife’s edged dulled and flattened such that while he could still feel it pressing against him it was without the immediate fear of spilled blood, and he embraced it, as he embraced Tom, as if he could forget everything that had gone wrong on this wretched expedition if he just held Thomas that much closer, that much tighter.</p><p><em>“Darling</em>,” he thought he heard Thomas whisper against his throat.  “<em>Darling.  Sweet thing.  My own love</em>.  <em>Sleep now</em>, <em>and perhaps I will still be here when you wake on the morrow.</em>”</p><p>It was a promise without a future, but Edward clung to it nonetheless, his mind adrift with desires that could not be and the realities that were.</p><p>He slept, the feverish closeness of Thomas’ body a secret, coveted thing; the promise of a better tomorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bonus snippet from Thomas' POV:</p><p>[<i>This is my fault,</i> Thomas thinks as he presses himself close, the cold leeching from Edward’s core into his own.  <i>I enabled this.</i>  There is a grim set to his mouth, his rage sharp as a razor's edge, and he thinks, holding Edward in his arms, that he will not allow this to happen again.]</p><p>If you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a comment 🖤 Kudos are also cherished!</p><p>This fic has graphics!  <a href="https://empirics.tumblr.com/post/632246509593935872/what-do-you-want-thomas-whispered-here-now">You can find them here</a> on my <a href="https://empirics.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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